


this tender proof

by tosca1390



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander's first letter arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this tender proof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts).



> I couldn't resist when I saw your yuletide letter. I truly hope you enjoy this small missing moment! 
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

{-}

Eliza has barely risen for the day when his first letter arrives. 

“It is barely seven o’clock,” she says, startled. Her fingers go to the end of her braid, tugging it as it lays across her shoulder and breast. The sun has just peaked through the open edges of the thick drapes, a beautiful royal blue her father allowed her to choose herself. 

In the doorway of her bedchamber, her ladies’ maid Maggie hides a smile. The letter rests on the wide silver tray in her hands, a tea service prepared to complete the picture. Eliza likes to start the day with an extra cup of tea prior to breakfast with her sisters (and father, if he is at home). It wakes her senses fully and keeps her alert. 

“It arrived before dawn,” Maggie says, stepping in and closing the door. 

“What?” Eliza asks, forgoing ladylike decorum. 

“Indeed, ma’am.”

Maggie sets the tray down at Eliza’s side on the rumpled bedcovers before headed into her dressing room. The sounds of rustling and water sloshing into a wash basin provides background noise as Eliza reaches for the letter. It is addressed by her full name, in a looping scrawl she already feels is imprinted on her heart. To open it is to invite the unknowable, and Alexander. 

Her fingers tremble as she touches it, brings it into her hands. 

Her bedroom door opens and Angelica glides in, tall and beautiful and grace personified. Her dark eyes fix on Eliza, in bed. “Is that – “

“Yes,” Eliza says, slightly flustered. She remembers how Alexander and Angelica had looked together, prior to joining her. “Apparently it arrived before dawn.”

Pressing her lips down on a smile, Angelica walks to Eliza’s window and pulls open the drapes. “Be careful with that one, love. He will do what it takes to survive.”

Eliza blinks. The collar of her nightdress suddenly feels quite close and tight around her throat. “What do you mean?” she asks haltingly. 

Turning back to the bed, Angelica watches her carefully, an unreadable look on her face. The sunlight frames her, creating a golden halo around her curling hair. “Nothing. Are you going to open it?”

Wetting her lips, Eliza turns the heavy folded parchment over in her hands. “Yes. Later.”

“Don’t keep it from us,” Angelica teases, walking over and tugging Eliza out of bed. The letter falls to the bedcovers and Eliza shrieks as her bare toes touch the cold floorboards. 

“Wait for your own letters!” Eliza retorts with a laugh, shrugging into her dressing gown and padding towards her dressing room. 

Angelica laughs; there’s something sad and brittle layered beneath the sound that Eliza can’t quite catch. “I doubt they will come soon,” she says. “Or, if they do, be worth my reading.”

Eliza disappears into her dressing room as Angelica glides from the room, and tries not to think on the regret lingering in her sister’s eyes. 

When she is dressed for the day, she waves Maggie away and sits at her dressing table, the letter in her hands. She smooths her fingertips over the ink spelling her name – she imagines the paper is still warm from Alexander’s feverish hands. 

She remembers the brush of his lips against her knuckles, the way he guided her along the edges of the dance floor. He is not a polished sort; his feet were clumsy on the dance floor, his palms sweaty. But he spoke to her with intent and inflamed her thirst for knowledge and appreciation. She believes in the ideals of freedom and independence, and longs to discuss them with someone other than her sisters. They talk in circles with each other, wanting new blood. Alexander is the first man to speak to her as if she has a mind, and not just a last name. 

What if it isn’t real?

_May I write to you?_ he had asked as he said his goodbyes, flushed and urgent. She had nodded, helpless under his glittering gaze. But here, in the cold winter light of day, she wonders what is true and what is merely a ploy to gain her father’s approbation. 

If she opens this missive, will she find out?

Wetting her lips, Eliza turns the letter over, taking a hairpin to the wax seal. She unfolds the parchment and cannot help but blink at the size of the letters. His writing covers every available inch, words upon words that she immediately sinks into. 

_To Elizabeth Schuyler –_

_Eliza –_

_Perhaps I importune myself in bestowing a name of my own making upon you so soon after our initial meeting. But I cannot help myself – Eliza fits your spirit, though perhaps I will find a sweeter name sooner rather than later._

_I write this by low-burning candlelight in my small room, watching the sky shift from winter darkness to a grey dawn. It is cold, but I feel nothing but warmth, remembering your hand in mine, your smile. You have entranced me, Eliza, and I feel no shame in revealing my deepest vulnerabilities to you. You may be a stranger in temporal measure, but I find you a kindred soul, even from merely making your acquaintance for one evening. You read my eyes and I know your heart. You deserve to give voice to your thoughts, your wise counsel. If I had the opportunity to have you at my side for all of time, to keep your soft and wise voice at my ear and in my heart always, I would snatch it as quickly as possible._

_If we only had last night, I will still treasure it, with utter delight and only one regret – that the day approaches, and breaks our connection._

_Dearest Eliza, if you would allow an imposition – I would call upon you at your soonest convenience. There is no distance I would not traverse in order to breathe your air, take comfort in your very presence. I am wholly yours, to do with and use as you please. I may not believe in an Almighty, but I believe in you._

_I shall not rest until your reply, yea or nay._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton._

Eliza cannot catch her breath. She sits at her dressing table, hands pressed to the ink-soaked paper. If she touches long enough, perhaps she can feel his quill, the scrape and breadth of his effort on the page. 

For a moment, she is afraid. It is too much – he wants too much – she cannot be _enough_ \- 

Then, she folds the letter, tucks it into her dress, beneath her pale lace fichu. She rises – 

And finds her writing desk, in order to reply. 

{-}


End file.
